


Sanguis

by loves_books



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Life-changing events, M/M, Not A Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1364179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hannibal and Face are captured during a mission gone terribly wrong, their lives are changed forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel this story needs a warning but it's very difficult to give specific warnings here without giving away large parts of the story. Suffice it to say that this is not a deathfic, but it is perhaps the most angsty and sad story I have written so far. The title translates to 'Blood', which should also stand as a warning, though the blood is non-graphic and there is little violence. There is no happy ending here I'm afraid...

“I’m so sorry.” Face’s voice is barely more than a breath, and Hannibal has to strain to hear it even from a few metres away. “Boss, I’m so…”

No, he wants to shout. Don’t be sorry. This is not your fault. Nothing is your fault. You did everything right. Hold on. Please, just hold on.

But all he can do is shake his head a fraction, straining impotently yet again in a futile attempt to break free from the restraints holding him down. The gag in his mouth prevents him making any sound but a growl or a groan, neither of which will be any help or comfort to his lover at this moment.

Across the room from the tilted table on which he is trapped, Face’s eyelids flutter shut briefly before he manages to force them back open again, though only halfway. He is similarly restrained, both of them bound to almost surgical tables with straps around shoulders, chest, waist, thighs and ankles. Their arms are bound tightest, as if their captors know just how deadly they can be if – when – they get free. The table are tilted virtually upright, and they are face to face, though metres apart. 

Might as well be miles, Hannibal thinks helplessly. He shakes his head again, though he has a strap across his forehead where Face has none, making any movement next to impossible. He has to get free. Face can’t struggle anymore.

“I can’t… Hannibal…” Face blinks hard, and his breathing starts to speed up for a minute before he manages to take control of his body again. He’s done an incredible job of keeping his breathing shallow and steady, therefore keeping his heartbeat slow and his blood pressure down, keeping the blood flow as slow as he possibly could. Hannibal doesn’t think he could have stayed in that much control if it was him instead.

Medieval torture, simply, with a wickedly modern twist. Their hooded, faceless captors had made a big show of wanting to be humane, of not wanting to hurt them unless they had to. If Face started talking then they would stop. They would also stop if Hannibal showed some signs of willingness. But until then, Face is bleeding, growing weaker with every heartbeat. 

A simple surgical needle in the crook of his left arm, piercing his vein as if they were going to take blood. But the needle had been taped in place with no tube, no vial, merely keeping his vein open and preventing any chance of clotting. Face has been bleeding for nearly an hour now, his arm strapped in such a position so it hangs just off the edge of the table. The blood drips steadily from his long limp fingers to collect in the bucket the sick bastards had placed on the floor beneath. The steady drip, drip, drip is just out of sync with the ticking from the clock on the wall. If Hannibal could grind his teeth in frustration, he would.

Hold on, he wants to say. Just another few minutes and they’ll be back again. They’ll see you can’t go on, and they’ll stop it. They have to stop it. They said they didn’t want us dead.

Their captors have been back every ten minutes, asking the same questions over and over. When Face refuses to answer, refuses to even look them in the eye, concentrating instead on keeping his breathing and his heartbeat calm, they turn to Hannibal. And Hannibal has to force himself to stay still, to shake his head in response to their questions. Keeping his eyes locked on the pale face of the man he loves instead.

Face is beyond pale now. His colour has moved from snow white straight into deathly grey, his full lips tinged with blue. The fingers on his left hand were twitching uncontrollably for the longest time, as the blood dripped from them, but they are frightening still now. Hannibal can’t even see the rise and fall of his boy’s chest, though Face still has his eyes open at least.

For now.

“I can’t, boss… So sorry…”

Hold on, baby, please hold on for me…

Face locks gazes with him from across the room, though Hannibal can see he can’t focus anymore. “Been an honour, Colonel…” he breathes, somehow managing to nod, and Hannibal strains to return the nod. There are cameras in the room, watching them, almost certainly listening to them. Face can’t say what he wants to say, gagged by their watching eyes as certainly as Hannibal is gagged by the rough cloth forced into his mouth.

He tries to pour everything he feels into his eyes instead, praying something reaches Face now. He can’t tell his lover about the transmitter still tucked safely into his boot, can’t tell him how Murdock and BA are coming for them. He can’t get free from the restraints holding him in place, can’t reach to pull the needle from his lover’s arm. But he can show all the love he feels for the wonderful, unique man opposite him. The man he knows is dying in front of his eyes, and all he can do is pray the rest of their team find them in time.

Time is nearly up, though, as Face closes his eyes with a tiny sigh, his head rolling slightly on the uncomfortable table. 

Please, Face, he prays. Please hold on, baby. Just a little longer. They’re coming, they have to be coming.

He’s so focussed on trying to make out the shallow rise and fall of his boy’s chest that he doesn’t register the sound of gunfire from outside the house. He’s so hypnotised by the slowing drip, drip, drip of his lover’s blood that he doesn’t hear the angry shouts, shouts in several different languages. 

Face is so still, and somehow seems so peaceful. Hannibal just feels numb, even as he strains again and again against the restraints. He can’t get free, can’t even gain an inch of traction. Their faceless captors even used padded restraints – though his wrists and ankles are rubbed almost raw, he doesn’t even have the sharp edge of pain to cut through the numbness.

Face can’t be dead, he can’t be, he can’t be…

And then the door explodes inwards, and Hannibal nearly snaps his neck in two as he tries to turn to see who has entered. 

“Boss! Face!” 

The two people he’d wanted to see more than anyone else in the whole world – Murdock and BA are through the doorway and across the room to his side in an instant, guns in hand, dirt and bloody smudges obvious on their faces. Hannibal tries to grunt, to shake his head at them. 

Not me, he tries to say. Go to Face. Help my boy.

“Shit, Murdock!” BA sees it first, dragging their pilot away by the collar and across the room with him to Face’s side. Murdock goes pale but immediately snaps into action, long fingers putting pressure on his friend’s vein as he slides the bloody needle carefully free. It might just be Hannibal’s imagination, but the needle seems reluctant to leave, and Face’s arm still seeps blood despite the increasing pressure Murdock applies.

BA slices through the restraints with his knife as if they were made of nothing more than butter, and together the two men control Face’s fall to the floor, laying him carefully on his back and straightening his limp body. Murdock leans harder onto the tiny wound as BA ties a quick tourniquet around Face’s upper arm, before turning to Hannibal and taking out the colonel’s own restraints with a ferocity rarely glimpsed.

Hannibal slides to the floor, landing heavily on his feet and scrambling for purchase before managing to virtually dive across the room to his lover’s side, tearing out the damned gag as he goes.

“Face?” His voice is rusty, scratchy, sore. He would kill for a bottle of water, but he would kill thousands if only Face would open his eyes right at that moment. “Kid, can you hear me? You did so well, hold on a little longer. Come on, Lieutenant.”

Murdock moves one hand to Face’s throat as Hannibal snatches up his lover’s right hand. So cold, like ice, and he shivers involuntarily even as the pilot reports, “He’s alive, sir. Pulse is weak and irregular, breathin’ real shallow. But he’s hangin’ in there.” He can hear the unspoken question in the captain’s voice, though Murdock somehow manages to keep his voice steady. He shakes his head in response – no time for those questions, or for explanations. There will be time later, once Face is safe and recovering.

Another burst of gunfire, more shouting, and Hannibal looks up at BA who is standing over them like a guard, gun steadily aimed at the open doorway, dark eyes focussed. “Report?” he barks, forcing himself into the role of colonel. It isn’t over yet, not by a long shot.

“Reynolds’ team are with us, Hannibal.” BA looks fierce, ready to fight, yet Hannibal can also read the relief and worry warring for attention there. “Chopper’s right outside. We should go while the goin’s good.”

Murdock helps Hannibal lift Face’s heavy body into his arms, keeping pressure on that tiny puncture wound the whole time. Even with his lover cradled in his arms, Hannibal can’t tell if Face is breathing or not. His boy feels cold, lifeless, but Murdock said he was still alive and Hannibal chooses to believe that. He has to believe that.

As they turn to leave the room, BA leading the way with weapon ready, someone manages to kick over the bucket of Face’s blood by the side of the table. The thick red spreads rapidly across the concrete floor, and Hannibal tries not to gag at the sight, instead staring down at the grey face of the man he loves, his second in command, his better half. 

He lets BA and Murdock guide his movements, tuning out the continuing gunfire and angry shouting. He doesn’t realise how tightly he is holding Face until the medic has to literally pry the lieutenant from his arms in order to help, when they are finally on that chopper and away from the hellhole that might just have cost his lover his life.


	2. Chapter 2

The flight seems endless, though it lasts barely twenty minutes. Hannibal watches in horror as the medic pierces Face’s right arm with yet another needle, setting up an IV line at a speed that scares the hell out of him, pushing clear fluids in a desperate attempt to replace some of the volume the lieutenant has lost.

Murdock is the one who asks if they have blood on board, monitoring Face’s blood pressure – so dangerously low – while the pilot from Reynolds’ team takes charge of the chopper. But the medic only shakes his head, teeth visibly gritted as he works. There is none on board, and no one who is a match. 

Face’s blood is o-negative, Hannibal knows. The universal donor. That fact has saved lives on several occasions, and Hannibal, Murdock and BA all have some of their team-mate’s blood flowing through their veins from emergency field transfusions. But in return, that means only o-negative blood can help him now, and despite asking everyone on board, no one can help, though if they could they would.

Hannibal can only watch, keeping two fingers pressed to his lover’s throat, making sure his heart is still beating. If his own blood could help, Face could have it all. Every last drop.

The flight seems endless, but Face doesn’t stir. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t twitch. No tension at all in his limp body, still so grey and lifeless as he lies on the floor of the chopper, surrounded by worried soldiers. He keeps breathing, though, miraculously, with the help of an oxygen mask – a dark part of Hannibal keeps expecting the fluttery pulse beneath his fingers to stop, but it doesn’t. 

Stepping away from his lover when they land is one of the hardest things Hannibal has ever had to do, but more medics are right there, ready and waiting to take charge. Face is swept away from them in a flurry of action, and Hannibal doesn’t see him again for nearly seven long hours. There are reports to be made, debriefings to attend, and other soldiers to take care of. He can’t stay by his boy’s side while the doctors work, though he would if he could. If there was any chance it would make things better, he would never leave.

The next time he sees Face, hooked up to the latest in a long series of blood transfusions and attached to numerous monitors, his heart just about breaks. As much as he wants to believe everything will be okay, he can’t see it right at that moment. The doctors talk about hypovolemic shock and oxygen deprivation, and they talk about transferring Face out as soon as possible. They are amazed the lieutenant was still conscious towards the end, gently suggesting there might be brain damage, and Hannibal just wants to cry. 

He doesn’t, of course. He nods in the right places and asks the appropriate questions. Hides the deep worry and terror of a lover beneath the appropriately concerned manner of a CO and friend. 

But when Face is flown out to Germany the next day, Hannibal is right there by his side, with Murdock and BA also on the transport. General Morrison had visited the ICU, taken one look at the wreckage of his best Alpha unit, and told them all in no uncertain terms to go with their fallen team member. Hannibal thanked his oldest friend, incredibly glad that he didn’t have to fight to get leave. That Face won’t have to wake up alone, when he eventually does wake up.

But he doesn’t wake up, not immediately. Hannibal tries to be patient, knowing things in real life are rarely as simple as they seem in the movies. The huge blood loss had caused Face’s body to go into shock, his internal organs to start failing. He is put on dialysis to help his kidneys, and a ventilator to make things easier for his weakened lungs. His heart is monitored closely, though thankfully there seem to be no real problems there. The doctors are still concerned about his left hand, after it had such reduced circulation for so long – it’s still cold to the touch, though the nerves seem intact, and there is little they can do to test for further damage until Face wakes up.

But he still doesn’t wake up, and the number of CT scans seems to increase until Hannibal can no longer ignore the fact that his lover might well not come back to him at all. Loss of blood means loss of oxygen, and loss of oxygen means irreparable damage, more often than not.

As the weeks pass, Face is taken off dialysis as his renal functions return to normal. The ventilator is turned down as low as it can go, staying in place only to take the strain off Face’s healing lungs. The worry for his heart is gone completely, and there appear to be no complications from the massive transfusion he’d undergone, his blood pressure stabilising and all other major functions normal at last. But Face’s left hand is still cold, and Face still sleeps.

Another week passes, and the subdued team mark the one month anniversary of the incident with all of them gathered around Face’s bed in the ICU. The time is coming when decisions must be made – Morrison needs them back in action, with or without Face, and Hannibal won’t be able to stay by his lover’s side without creating a scene. If he refuses a direct order, he could be court martialled, hauled away from Face’s bedside anyway. And if he chooses instead to out them both, he’ll most likely face the same fate, and he won’t be able to return to his boy if he is thrown from the service in disgrace on a DADT charge.

Most likely Face doesn’t even know they are there. Murdock is the one who dares to say it out loud, soft voice full of tears despite his dry eyes. And if he does start to wake up, it won’t be like it is in the movies either – after so long spent comatose, Face will wake slowly, in stages, over the course of days or even weeks, giving the medical staff time to get in contact with the team. Giving them all time to get back to Germany, so Hannibal can be there.

No choice, in the end. Never any choice. Duty must come first, even over and above love – he and Face had decided that many years ago, when they first fell into bed together, long before they even declared their love for each other. And so it is with a heavy heart that Hannibal, Murdock and BA leave Germany to return to Iraq, even as preparations are being made to transfer Face back to the States. 

At first, Hannibal has no idea how he will cope. It feels like he is leaving his heart and soul with Face, and that only the shell of his body is moving around, back on the FOB and preparing for their first mission. Morrison has been as understanding as he can be, without asking any questions or making any assumptions, and the team have been given a short milk-run of a mission for their first time back out. 

No replacement for Face, of course. It wasn’t even mentioned, as if everyone knew Hannibal wouldn’t even consider it. Instead, they have two baby Rangers with them – they will rotate trainees for the time being, giving the new kids some much needed front-line experience while staying close to base. At any given time, they won’t be more than twelve hours from Face’s side, even now the unresponsive man is back at Benning, in the care of the Army medical centre based there.

More weeks pass with no change, and Hannibal somehow finds he is able to keep going. Though his heart is still with Face, his mind has to focus on the missions they take, as much as it still pains him not to be by his lover’s side every minute of every day. Each time they return to base, the first thing he does is to call the medical centre, even before the post-mission debriefings take place. He thanks whatever God there might be that Face had made him formal next-of-kin a year ago, so no questions are asked, and his are answered without hesitation. 

Still no change, he is told over and over again, shattering his heart a little more each time. Face is comatose but stable. Every day that passes without him showing any signs of waking makes it more and more likely that he has suffered a serious brain injury. Hannibal tries not to break down in tears on the phone, thinking of the man he loves spending the rest of his days being cared for in an Army facility. 

Face wouldn’t want that, Hannibal knows. They’ve had that conversation, had it very early on in their relationship actually – neither of them wants to be kept alive indefinitely by machines, not if there is no hope for recovery. It would kill Hannibal to turn the life-support machines off, but he will find the strength to do it if necessary. He would rather let the man he loves die in peace if there is truly nothing more the doctors can do, though of course he will be by Face’s side if and when that terrible moment comes. 

Time ticks on, and the successful missions continue to pass, though nothing is the same without Face by his side. Murdock and BA aren’t the same either, both of them missing their friend badly though they show it in different ways. Murdock is more subdued than normal, seeming far more sane than at any time since Hannibal had rescued him from that Mexican hospital all those years ago. BA is the opposite, angry and aggressive most of the time, then sunk deep into introspection at others.

Hannibal grits his teeth and somehow manages to keep going, keeping them all together and keeping them focussed, despite the ever-present pain of their missing man. His missing Lieutenant – more importantly, his missing lover. Face has been right by his side for so long that it feels almost like he is missing a limb.

Three months after they were forced back to work, and Hannibal can bear it no longer. It’s been a difficult job, their current Baby Ranger worse than useless though they still managed to get the job done, just as they always do. But he can’t take it, can’t keep his mind focussed any more. He’s terrified that sooner or later he is going to make a mistake, and someone else will get hurt. 

He’s been fighting his feelings of guilt every single day, guilt over what happened as well as guilt for not being with his lover now. He’s no fool – he doesn’t blame himself for the condition Face is in, not really, even though everything went to hell on his watch. He blames the men who took them captive, thankful that they had died painfully when he and Face were rescued. But he can’t risk his mind slipping on the job, and he can’t stay professional for one single minute more. 

The second they get back to base, Hannibal forgoes his usual call to the States and heads straight for Morrison’s tent. He hasn’t talked to BA and Murdock about his decision, though he knows they’ll be supportive. He has to get back to Face’s side, one way or another. If Morrison won’t release him, he’ll quit, there and then.

Pushing straight past the General’s aide, he enters the tent, blinking in the sudden dark after the blinding brightness of the desert outside. Morrison stands immediately, coming around his desk with a huge smile on his face, and Hannibal’s heart starts beating fast.

“Hannibal! Your timing is, as ever, perfect!” Morrison slaps him firmly on the shoulder and guides him to a chair, sitting heavily opposite him. “I just got off the phone with the AMC at Benning – they think he’s starting to wake up.”

The rush of blood thundering in his ears threatens to drown out everything for the longest moment, and Hannibal finds himself blinking back tears. When he feels certain his voice won’t break, he starts to speak. “Russ, please, I have to – ”

“Go, go.” His old friend waves his hands, almost in dismissal. “There’s a transport out of here in an hour, and a seat with your name on it. Captain Murdock can give me the debrief, then I’ll send your boys on to join you both as soon as I can. Give Face all my best.”

Speechless, Hannibal can only bite his lower lip and nod his thanks, shaking Morrison’s hand as he leaves the tent at top speed. His lover is waking up at long last; surely everything will be okay now. Everything has to be okay now.


	3. Chapter 3

Ten days after Hannibal returned to his lover’s bedside, and Face is still not properly awake. Coming out of a coma is never as straightforward as it seems in the movies, and he’d been under no false impressions that Face would suddenly snap back into himself and be absolutely fine. But knowing the theory and seeing the reality are entirely different things. 

The doctors talk about sleep-wake cycles. Face’s eyes can be open for a few minutes or a few hours, though he doesn’t respond to any stimuli. Then he’ll simply close his eyes once more, seemingly back in his coma, though the doctors assure Hannibal it’s a good sign, that his brain and his body both need the rest, and have to gear up slowly after being asleep for so long.

Limbs twitch, and Face rolls his head side to side on the pillow. He’s been off the ventilator for months now, off all but the most essential life-support, a feeding tube in place. Hannibal resists the urge to hold his lover’s hand still when those long fingers start clenching and unclenching involuntarily – the doctors tell him again that it’s a good sign, wasted muscles trying to come back to life, unused nerves waking up once more. Only Face’s right hand twitches, though, his left remaining lifeless throughout. The physiotherapists show Hannibal how to curl Face’s fingers for him and how to turn his wrist gently, trying to encourage movement. At last, something useful he can do.

Another twelve days pass before Face seems to be truly awake, though by then Hannibal has known for some time that his lover won’t be himself anymore. Has had some time to grieve in private, sobbing noisily in the shower at the unfairness of everything. The doctors are now certain beyond all doubt that Face has suffered severe brain damage – the only question now is how permanent that damage might be, and exactly how much Face has lost.

At first, Face seems to have lost everything. Everything he was, everything he knew, it all seems lost, and Hannibal tries hard not to show how devastated he is. Not in public, at least. At first, Face appears to be nothing but an empty shell, physically alive and present but completely unaware. He doesn’t speak, barely moves on his own, though his eyes track movements easily enough.

The speech therapists spend hours with Face, trying to find some way to communicate with him. Face shows no recognition or understanding when they speak to him, and with Hannibal’s help they try several different languages in the hope that something will get through. His lover used to be fluent in six different languages, including French, Spanish and Arabic, and he had been more than capable in a further seven. But now, nothing gets any kind of response beyond the calm blinking as Face watches them silently, propped up on pillows in his hospital bed.

They try the written word instead, and then ASL. Face just watches, blue eyes following their movements but never showing any hint of understanding, never making any attempt to copy their actions or reciprocate in any way. Hannibal’s heart feels completely broken, but he keeps trying, talking to Face for hours and hours in the hope that something will break through. He has to keep trying, has to keep hoping, though it seems futile.

The physical therapist has more success, thankfully, coaxing muscles wasted through months of inaction back into life, and discovering that Face still has some muscle memory, instinctive and simple movements coming back naturally. Within the first week she has him sitting up, then gradually gets him up and walking, slowly but surely. Face never makes a sound as she works with him, though Hannibal knows from bitter experience how painful some of the exercises must be. Again, those blue eyes just watch the therapist’s every movement, and he lets himself be manipulated into position without ever complaining. 

One time, Hannibal is present when his lover collapses in the exercise room, and he rushes straight over, terrified that something is seriously wrong. Something beyond the obvious, at least. Turns out the therapist had missed the signs of fatigue in still-weak legs, and Face had simply not been capable of letting her know. In fact, he’d probably had no idea. Hannibal screams at her for a long time, out of earshot of his boy, nearly reducing her to tears. He apologises the very next day, of course, and she apologises in turn, to Face as well, though it really wasn’t her fault. She works even more carefully than before, after that, and at the same time she works harder, though sadly nothing improves the control Face has over his left hand.

As the doctors had feared, the previously skilled limb is damaged beyond recovery. Face has some limited movement, and clearly some feeling, though he has no strength in his fingers at all and nothing makes it any better. He can’t make a fist, can’t grip anything, though he learns quickly to use the side of his hand to steady things, or to push them. He adapts quickly to nearly everything he is shown, physically, and soon he can feed himself with prompting and toilet himself, his strength returning rapidly.

But mentally, there is still nothing, and Hannibal fights to stay positive as the weeks then months pass by. Face still shows no signs of understanding, and no signs that he remembers anything at all before waking up in the rehab centre. Strangely, he seems happy enough, and he starts to smile whenever Hannibal is in the room, blue eyes lighting up and tracking the older man’s every move. 

Face never seems scared or in pain, and there are no nightmares when he sleeps, which gives Hannibal some comfort in his grief. In his own darkest nightmares he has thought often of the hell his lover must have gone through in that long hour all those months ago, strapped down and bleeding with no way to save himself, no friendly touch to be found. Perhaps it is a blessing that Face has lost that, lost a lifetime of painful memories in fact.

The good memories are gone too, of course, and nothing Hannibal does ever seems to prompt a spark of recognition or remembrance in his lover’s eyes. He tries to remember for the both of them, telling Face stories long into the night, stories of missions they’d been on, stories of the men they’d worked with, and stories of the love they shared. 

Stories of long desert nights cuddled together in tents, sleeping bags joined together and bodies entwined. Tales of stolen weekends in beachside hotels, just talking for hours and hours about anything and everything. Illicit sex in supply closets on military bases around the world, gagging each other with rough yet loving hands. The first time Hannibal said ‘I love you’. The first time Face said it back. 

He talks and talks and talks until his voice is hoarse. He remembers every moment of every hour he has spent loving this precious man, the man he always thought he would spend the rest of his life with. He stays as late as he can every night before the medical staff chase him out. And Face just watches him the whole time, his expression calm, perhaps even fond, but nothing more. 

Murdock and BA visit often, of course, though both of them struggle to cope with the empty shell of their friend. Murdock puts on a brave face, chattering away the whole time he is in the room with Face, always cheerful and positive until he leaves. Then, there are tears and frustration, the tears and frustration Hannibal keeps expecting to see in Face. He holds Murdock as the younger man sobs, letting his own tears slide silently down his cheeks.

BA simply doesn’t know what to do, how to be around a Face who doesn’t respond to anything he says or does. He tries, Hannibal can see how hard he tries, but he just doesn’t know. BA isn’t built for being a carer, though that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. On the contrary, Hannibal knows how much it is breaking the big man’s heart to see his brother like this, but BA doesn’t let that show, always determined to be the strong one of their team, now more than ever. 

“I’m not going back,” Hannibal tells them one evening, and neither of them are surprised. He handed in his papers that afternoon, officially resigning his commission effective immediately. He’ll always be grateful to Russell Morrison for allowing him to stay with Face as long as he has with few questions asked, but he knows the time is coming when yet more difficult decisions will have to be made. And in his heart, he’d already decided long ago.

The doctors have been blunt with him, and the various therapists have reluctantly agreed with their conclusions. Face is as recovered as he will ever be, and there is simply nothing more they can do. Physically he is capable of caring for himself, though he still needs prompting and guiding for all but the most basic of tasks. Communication is still non-existent, and likely to remain that way – Face can’t say when he’s hungry, or hurting, or exhausted, because he simply doesn’t seem to know. He will need care for the rest of his life, and his memories will never return. His ability to form new memories seems damaged too, as evidenced by the fact he shows no ability to learn anything more than tasks involving simple muscle memory.

The thought of leaving Face in an Army-approved care home is abhorrent, and Hannibal takes his lover home at last. It isn’t easy, of course, though Face still appears happy and content at all times. Those blue eyes still light up when Hannibal is close, and he smiles easily, freely, never making a sound. Hannibal finds ways to fill their days together, though it’s always a struggle, keeping Face safe – his boy has no sense of danger, no fear of strangers or new activities, and Hannibal can sense some of Face’s previously strong sense of independence and bravery in the shell of a man he now lives with. Almost childlike, this new Face is innocent and naïve, simpleminded and seemingly content with his lot in life. 

Hannibal tries to be content with that much, too. His lover is still here, yet his lover is also gone forever.

He doesn’t stay with Face out of guilt, though he will always feel some guilt for what happened, even though he really does know none of it was his fault. He’s replayed everything in his mind, over and over again, and they simply couldn’t have done anything differently. Doing the jobs they do – the jobs they did, the job he and Face will never do again – something was bound to happen at some point, to one of them. Hannibal could never have imagined this scenario, though, not in his darkest nightmares. He used to have nightmares where Face was killed, nightmares where he was paralysed, or lost limbs in terrible explosions. Now, his nightmares are of Face, bleeding and alone. Face, trapped in his own mind, screaming for help. 

Hannibal could never have foreseen this. Something as simple as blood, or a desperate lack of it for far too long. Blood, the one thing they all took so much for granted. The one thing none of them can live without. 

But still, it isn’t out of guilt that he acts now. It’s out of love, pure and simple. 

He still loves Face, of course he does. He loves him more than anything in the world. Would do anything and everything for him. But the Face he fell in love with is truly gone forever, and he has to accept that, as painful as it is. In a way, it would have been easier if Face had died that day, though he feels terribly guilty for even thinking that for a second in his darkest moments, alone in his bed in the middle of the night. He cries sometimes, and Face comes to him, curls up by his side, holds his hand gently, smiling softly the whole time. Not understanding anything.

Sometimes Hannibal wonders, though. When Face comes unbidden, when he holds his hand, or when he tries to climb into Hannibal’s bed – he wonders if something does remain, some sense memory perhaps, some awareness of the deep love the two of them shared for so many years. The love Hannibal must now carry alone. There can be nothing between them now but companionship and platonic love, Face incapable of any form of consent even though he may hint at willingness. 

He’ll never give up on Face, not for a second, and he’ll never stop trying to find some way to help him, to reach him. He keeps up with new research, talks to new doctors and therapists, but as time passes Hannibal can’t help but accept the truth. Face doesn’t seem to know what he’s lost, and he is happy and at peace. Hannibal knows he’ll never be entirely happy himself, though he is more content than he thought he could ever be, living the way they do. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Face, after all, and he can do that now, though not in the way he always dreamed of. 

After their first year together, Hannibal takes the decision to move them out of the city and away from Benning, taking Face back to the Midwest with him, to the old ranch he inherited when his parents passed away. Face finds silent pleasure in the companionship of the few horses and cattle they keep, as well as the farm cat and their two dogs, and Hannibal takes comfort in seeing how happy and safe his boy is. 

Old friends drift further away as the years pass by, even visits from Murdock and BA becoming few and far between. They still love Face dearly, will always be brothers, but as their careers and lives take them in new directions, they find it increasingly difficult to visit and more painful each time to leave. And Hannibal finds he is okay with that. Knows that Face would understand entirely. 

Just him and Face now, together, the way it should be. 

Face is still with him in some way, and always will be. Hannibal would rather have that than be alone. He will always be in love with Face, and will always mourn the fact that this terrible thing happened, but he finds he can’t regret the fact that his lover survived. Now, they are free to live the rest of their lives together in whatever peace they can find. What could he possibly find to regret in that?


End file.
